Marked in Other Ways
by HollyeLeigh
Summary: CS S3 Canon Divergence: Hook had first heard the tale as a lad. A legend about a soulmark that appeared on those who shared the truest of love. He had listened to the stories with the wide-eyed innocence of youth, wondering if such a mark would ever appear on his skin. Though the details were altered with each telling, one remained fixed. The mark only appeared on the left hand.


_**A/N: After I started writing this, I discovered resident-of-storybrooke had written her csss fic under a similar premise. With her blessing, I continued to write mine, but refrained from reading, so I wouldn't be influenced while writing mine. Any similarities are purely coincidental, and I hope you'll take the time to read both. Thanks to artistic-writer for giving this a once over.**_

* * *

"If I had to choose someone…" Emma looked between the two men, furious with each of them. They'd almost lost their chance for the shadow. They'd almost been torn apart by Pan's shadows. He'd almost died. They… _they'd_ almost died, Emma reminded herself, even though it had only been one she'd been focused on in the moment. Only one that had caused an unexpected swell of emotion to crest within her, allowing her to harness the power Regina and Gold had been trying to get her to tap into. Allowing her to light the flame. Allowing her to save… him.

"I'd choose Henry," Emma stated emphatically before stomping off into the jungle and back towards camp, leaving the chagrined men in her wake.

"How did it go?" Mary Margaret asked as soon the trio entered the clearing. "Did you get the shadow?"

"Aye," Hook answered from behind before brushing past her and settling himself upon the rock he'd taken up as his own personal perch. Pulling his flask from his pocket, he took a long pull from it, his eyes cast downward towards the jungle floor. Emma felt their absence as acutely as she'd felt their heated gaze on her since they'd arrived on the island.

"Um… yeah. The coconut worked," Emma replied, unconsciously clenching and flexing her hand as an irritation began to form in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger along its back.

"Did you do something to your hand?" David stepped forward, wanting to get a closer look, but Emma brushed him off.

"I used magic to light the candle, and it's making my hand feel a little weird. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Are you sure? Maybe I should check-"

"I said it's fine."

She didn't mean to snap at Mary Margaret, really she didn't, but after the shadow experience, and Hook and Neal behaving like imbeciles over a lighter, and Hook making more… _declarations_ while standing so close to her and looking at her with those infuriating blue eyes of his, Emma was feeling more than a little stretched.

"I'm sorry," she whispered at Mary Margaret, offering her a small smile of apology. "I'm just… tired."

"Of course you are," David comforted. "We should all get some sleep. Meet up with Tink once we're rested, and go from there."

Emma absentmindedly scratched at the irritation that only seemed to be getting worse on her left hand. Noting Mary Margaret's narrowed and attentive gaze at the action, Emma felt the compulsion to hide it from her _mother's_ prying eyes. She snatched up her canteen, mumbling her need to fill it, before trekking off towards the small stream just a few meters away.

The coolness of the water had no effect on the burning sensation radiating from her left hand. Had something bit her? There didn't appear to be a bite mark, or any kind of mark, for that matter. The area was red from her incessant scratching and rubbing, not from the actual irritation itself. Was it a side effect of magic Regina had fail to mention? That might make sense if she'd cast the spell with her left hand, but she hadn't. The magic had flowed from her right as she'd held the candle in her left. Maybe the shadow had done something to her?

One thing was for sure. She wasn't going to find answers by the stream.

"Everything alright, love?" Hook asked quietly when she returned to camp. There was nothing flirtatious or antagonistic in his tone for a change, just sincere concern. Which was unnerving. She'd rather have the roguish pirate right now. _Him_ , she could handle.

Oh… right. No, she couldn't.

"Fine," she clipped harshly, causing him to flinch infinitesimally. Immediately regretting her tone, she closed her eyes and sighed. "I mean, I'm fine. Everything's alright."

"And your hand?"

Her eyes flew open and met his, her brows snapping together. "How did you-"

"You're going to break skin if you keep at it like that." He nodded down towards her hand where she'd started scratching again.

"Yeah… uh, I-I think I may have been bitten by something."

A small flare of concern flashed over his features before he schooled them. "May I have a look? If you've indeed been bitten by something, best we know now. The wildlife can be just as _hospitable_ as the vegetation here," he warned.

Emma held out her left hand as he reached for it with his right, pausing to glance assessingly at her before taking her hand in his. With a gentle pull beckoning her towards him, Emma took a few steps forward so he could better examine the back of her hand by the light of the lantern he had hanging from a nearby branch.

"I don't see a bite mark," he murmured, his eyes scrutinizing each millimeter of reddened flesh. "Is it sensitive to the touch?" He brushed his thumb across the area, sending a ripple of gooseflesh up her arm and tingles down her spine, but no pain. If anything, the action seemed to soothe the irritation.

"No." Emma swallowed, combatting the dryness that had suddenly developed in her throat.

"A side effect of the magic, then?" he pondered. His forget-me-not eyes once again focused on her face, his thumb still lightly rubbing circles over the affected skin. Though, it wasn't the only skin being affected now. The rest of her body felt like it was burning as well, but not the isolated sensation she'd been experiencing since Dark Hollow. No. This burning she'd felt before. Behind a grove of trees after toasting the man's heroism in saving David life's when his lips had been fused to hers and she'd hung onto the collar of his coat for dear life.

"I don't think so," she answered, her tone strained from the continued tightness in her throat. "I used my right hand to perform the magic, but only my left seems affected."

A look Emma could not discern tightened over his face. "If you'd come into contact with something in the hollow that caused this, it stands to reason Neal or I would be experiencing it, too. Have you asked him if he's had any symptoms similar to yours?"

He still had her hand, thumb still swirling over her skin, his voice low and hushed with a rich resonance so as to not wake the others that made Emma want to pull him to her again. One time thing, be damned.

Which is why she removed her hand from his and took several steps back. "No, but if it's still bothering me tomorrow, I will. Get some rest, Hook."

"Aye, love," he replied. An unexpected note of sadness weighed down his words, pulling at Emma's heart. "Sleep well."

She did not sleep well.

Visions of Hook pinned against a tree morphed into him standing on the edge of a precipice in Echo Cave, revealing a truth neither of them had been ready for him to share. Promises of winning her heart, and encouragements that she would not fail rang in her ears. All the while, her hand felt as if it were on fire. The only respite it had received was when it had been in Hook's embrace with his feather light caresses brushing over it. Caresses her mind transformed into possessive touches, venturing over other parts of her body, some by hand and others with his hook. Some gentle and reverent, others rough yet sensual. To say her hand wasn't the only thing tingling with heat and frustration when she woke would have been an understatement.

"Hey. Can I ask you something?" Emma approached Neal as they were all collecting their gear, ready to find Tink and get the rescue mission underway. First, she needed to know. "Has anything been bothering you physically since we left the hollow?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have this spot on the back of my hand that's really bothering me. I've had it since the hollow, but there's nothing visible to explain why it's irritated. At least, none that Hook or I could see-"

"Hook knows about it?"

Emma refrained from rolling her eyes at the whine of jealousy coloring his words. "Yes. He saw me scratching at it and asked, plus he knows the island so I thought he'd be a good person to take a look at it."

"I know the island, too."

"I realize that," she sighed. It was too early for the competitive posturing. "I just forget sometimes. I'm still kind of… processing everything."

"I bet," he chortled, setting Emma's teeth on edge.

"So have you?"

His mirth died away in the face of her impatience. "Uh, no. And I don't remember ever coming into contact with anything that irritated the skin without leaving a mark. Maybe I could have another look at it though?" He held out his hand, expecting her to offer her own.

"No, it's fine." She took several steps back, pointedly ignoring his hand; the offer of his touch made the pain in her flesh flare unpleasantly. "We need to get going anyway."

~/~

Hook held his breath as he watched Swan approach Bae, er… _Neal_ that morning, asking if he'd experienced an abrasion hidden beneath his skin similar to the one she had affecting her hand. Her _left_ hand.

He'd first heard the tales as a lad aboard his first master's ship. Sailor's loved their stories, and a legend about a soulmark that appeared on those who shared the truest of love had been terrific fodder after too many tankards of ale. He'd listened with the wide-eyed innocence of youth, wondering if such a mark would ever appear on his skin. Though the details were altered a bit from one telling to another, one always remained fixed. The mark only appeared on the left hand.

As a pirate, he'd scoffed at the stories, then dismissed them as pure fairy tale after he'd met Milah, and no such mark had appeared between them. For surely, if what he'd shared with his love hadn't been true, then nothing purer could ever exist. Then he'd lost both her and his left hand, and the idea of love in any form seemed void altogether. Especially the idea of a love so true it wielded its own kind of magic, the kind that broke curses and branded the skin from beneath. The kind fairy tales are written about.

But then he'd met the fairy tale.

Snow White's soulmark had practically jumped off her left hand the first time his eyes had landed on it. He'd heard the tale regaled in a dozen different ports. The kiss that broke an unbreakable curse with the rarest and most powerful of magic. True love shared between soulmates.

At first he'd tried to dismiss the mark it as a simple scar, but then he'd met the prince who bore the exact same mark, on the exact same place; the back of the webbed skin that connected the thumb to the forefinger. The soulmark. The legend was true. A myth emblazoned in reality on Snow White and Prince Charming's hands. It only stood to reason that their daughter, the product of that true love, the Saviour, would one day bear the mark herself.

Hook just never actually considered it before her left hand began to show signs of its possible existence. Not until after the hollow. After he'd declared his intentions to win her heart then spectacularly ruined all chances of ever being given the opportunity when he'd allowed himself to be goaded into a feat of one upmanship with the man who'd already won her heart once. The man who might very well be feeling the prickles of conformation that he still held it. Prickles along the back of his hand.

His left hand.

Breath whooshed from Hook's lungs at the sight of the man shaking his head before holding out his hand towards her. Swan took a skittish step back, her right hand fidgeting over her left briefly before she snatched up her pack and fell in with her parents. Neal looked down at his hand, turning it this way and that as he inspected it closely before clenching it into a fist and grabbing his own provisions. Relief crested within Hook. He'd never been more pleased to be proven wrong. It seemed Swan's irritant was not the beginnings of soulmark afterall.

At least… not one she would share with Neal.

Glancing down at his gleaming silver hook, braced where his left hand used to rest, Hook couldn't help but wonder. Couldn't help but hope. There was no way for him to know for sure, not with the loss the crocodile had inflicted upon all those centuries ago, and yet…

Hook shook his head and cursed himself for such flights of fancy. _Fairy tales_ , he muttered under his breath. Captain Hook wasn't one of the Enchanted Forest's fairy tale characters (as Swan had deemed them), he was a pirate, a villain. Emma might very well bear the mark one day, but it wouldn't be for him. Fairy tale endings weren't meant for him. He'd been a fool to ever think otherwise.

~/~

"Bae? Is it really you?" Tink questioned in astonishment after they'd all convened at her treehouse hideaway.

"Good to see you, Tink," Neal replied with a warm smile.

The reunion with the fairy once again drove home the bizarre reality Emma now found herself in. Fairy Tales, Neverland, Peter Pan, Tinkerbell… Captain Hook, all things she'd once considered fanciful were now intertwined within the very fabric of her existence. It all made Emma's head spin, and the spot on her hand began itching with irritation.

"Your parents said you were able to capture Pan's Shadow. Is that true?"

"Um… yeah. Here." Emma passed the twine wrapped coconut to the fairy whose eyes landed on the reddened spot on the back of her outstretched hand.

"Did something happen to your hand?" the fairy asked with furrowed brows.

"Yeah," Neal chimed in before Emma could brush off the fairy's concern. "It's been bothering her since we left Dark Hollow. It doesn't appear to be a bite of any kind, but maybe you could have a look at it."

"It's still bothering you?" Mary Margaret responded with worry tingeing her voice. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it isn't a big deal," Emma exasperated, her words and tone colored with more snark then was probably fair. "We have more important things to focus on than a mild case of psoriasis."

"Actually," Tink countered, her eyes still fixed on Emma's hand. "It's a very big deal."

"Why? Wait is it?" David jumped in, seemingly ready to do battle - though what he planned to fight, Emma had no idea.

"It appears to be…" Tink drew out the moment, a smile teasing her lips as she flicked her eyes up to Emma's, "the beginnings of a soul mark."

Everyone within the treehouse immediately tensed up at the declaration. Everyone except Emma who just stared at the fairy before uttering, "A soul… what?"

"A soul mark," Tink stated again. "It begins to form on a person's left hand when they first acknowledge their feelings for the person who is their soulmate. It becomes fully visible once those feelings are expressed." Tink looked around their little circle, her eyes landing on a stunned David and Mary Margaret. "Go on. Tell her."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, but no words formed along her tongue for several moments. "Yes. It's true. My hand burned for weeks after I realized my feelings for your father, but the mark didn't appear until after we'd declared those feelings to each." She held up her hand, and Emma could just make out the small scar-like mark in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, the same place Emma was experiencing the irritation. David extended his as well, and sure enough, a mark to match rested in the same spot. "But… you said your hand started to bother you after the hollow, right?"

"Yeah." Emma's voice was barely audible. Her mind playing back those moments when both men had been trapped against trees, their shadows being ripped from their bodies. Anguished shouts of pain filling the air with commands that she run, her fear anchoring her to the spot. The spot where she could see _him_ , focus on him, call upon her magic for him, save him, because she…

"But Neal's hand hasn't been bothering him," Mary Margaret prattled on, neither her nor David aware of Emma's wandering gaze to the figure standing just behind them. "You haven't exactly been shy about your feelings," she commented to Neal, who looked as if he'd swallowed glass, "so shouldn't your hand hand be affected, or already marked?"

"Not if he isn't Emma's soulmate," Tink suggested delicately.

"But who else could it be if not Ne-" David's words fell away when his attention went back to Emma, whose gaze was fixed on something over his shoulder. Turning, his eyes landed on the pirate who'd been silently taking in the scene. His reclined posture as he braced himself against the far wall was meant to give off a casual air, but Emma could see the tension rolling over him. "You don't have a left hand," David stated. Understanding crashed around his words while his eyes volleyed between the pirate and his daughter.

"An astute observation, mate." Hook's forget-me-not eyes were locked onto Emma's, attempting to read her like the open book he'd always claimed her to be.

"Which means you wouldn't have felt it," Tink commented at Hook, her voice a little too chipper for Emma's comfort. "The first time you acknowledged your feelings for Emma, your left hand would have started to burn."

"Aye. And if what you say is true," Hook's eyes finally pulled away from hers before settling on his brace and the metal instrument of his namesake. "if I still had my hand, a mark would have appeared upon it after-"

"Echo Cave," Dave finished for him even as his eyes remained on Emma, willing her to dispute what the fairy and pirate were suggesting.

"What happened in the hollow, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked, her voice tinged with caution and disbelief. "Something must have happened. Was it something to do with Hook, or were you… were you maybe thinking of someone back home? In Storybrooke? Is that it?"

Anger sparked within Emma at Mary Margaret's callous dismissal, making her throat parched and tears well up in her eyes. "I…"

"Wait, wait, wait," Neal interjected, grabbing onto Emma's arm, and spinning her towards him. In her periphery, she saw Hook leave the wall and take a step toward them only to be halted by David. "You're not really buying this crap, are you? I mean, come one… soulmates? A mark on your left hand? Seriously?"

"Snow White and Prince Charming bear the marks of soulmates," Tink piped in. "And it's rather common knowledge that they share true love."

"Okay, sure. Fine," Neal waved off, "But Hook? You're going to stand there and tell me you believe _Captain Hook_ might be your soulmate? Why? Because you got a rash on the back of your hand? He doesn't even _have_ a left hand!"

"He's right," Hook said softly, snapping everyone's attention back to him. "I no longer have my hand to offer as proof, which means…" His eyes pierced right through Emma, leaving her a bit breathless.

"There's only one way to find out." Tink chimed in brightly. "See if the mark appears on Emma's hand after she declares her feelings."

Panic welled up within Emma. _Now? The freaking fairy wanted her to declare it now? What was she supposed to declare, anyway? It's not as if she loves him… mildly tolerates, sure. Okay, more than tolerates. Likes, actually. Cares for, even. Thinks that maybe he could win her heart, and she wouldn't mind the effort of him trying? Sure. Felt something simmering since the beanstalk, but didn't admit it was more than just physical attraction until he was about to be torn asunder by a shadow? Okay… fine… yes. But-_

"You don't have to say anything, Swan," Hook assured her.

"Uh… yeah, she does," Neal argued. "I think we all have a right to know if-"

"No. You don't," Hook growled. His eyes flashed with menace as they settled on Neal, and Mary Margaret placed a hand on David's upper arm, staying his impulse to jump in on the action. "None of us have a right to Emma's thoughts and feelings. Those are hers alone, until when or _if_ she chooses to divulge them." His attention swung back onto her, his eyes ablaze with something else entirely. "You don't owe an explanation to _anyone_ , Swan. Just say the word, and we'll drop the entire subject. Say the word, and we'll go get your boy."

Emma's heart thundered in her ears, her breaths shaky and shallow, her body trembling with adrenaline. With need. A need to do… something. Like a fight or flight response. Fight or flight… or both.

"We've wasted enough time," she managed to croak out before brushing past Neal, and heading for the ladder. "Let's go get Henry."

~/~

It really wasn't necessary for him to man the helm. Regina had enchanted the black sail to take them back to Storybrooke, the shadow was doing all the work, but Hook couldn't bring himself to leave the solitude of the deck.

They'd won. The lad was safe. Pan was defeated. The Lost Boys were rescued. The prince had the crocodile's word that he could be cured. Hook was reserving judgement on that particular victory, taking a page from the princess' journals of hope that the Dark One might actually come through. Now, they were all headed home.

Home.

He wasn't sure he knew where that was anymore.

That was a bloody lie. He knew exactly where home was.

It was with her.

He didn't need his hand to prove what his heart already told him. He loved Emma Swan. Mark or no mark, nothing would change how he felt, but despite his best efforts to temper his expectations, he couldn't help but hope for a mark to appear on her hand. Not for his assurances, but for hers.

An open book, that's what he'd called her after they'd first met, and it remained true even with her added fortifications. He knew she wasn't ready. She'd hadn't been ready for his forced confession in the Echo Cave, hadn't been ready to make (or admit to) a choice at the hollow, and hadn't been ready to confirm what her hand may have been trying to tell her, based on Tink's assessment.

Not that he had reason to distrust Tink's instinct. She may not consider herself a fairy any longer, but Hook knew her inherent nature was still there deep down. The drive to help people find their happy endings, to recognize magic of such significance, that wasn't something as easily lost as wings. Still… Emma hadn't been ready to declare such things for herself, and no one was going to make her. Not if he had any say in it.

Though, if he was being honest, he wasn't sure he'd been ready to hear it either. A part of his soul denied it was even possible, the princess' suggestion that Swan might have been thinking of someone else entirely back in the hollow had laid more seeds of doubt within the freshly turned soil of his unworth. If the mark wasn't for him, and honestly… how could it be, then he'd rather not have that confirmation from Swan's lips. If by some miracle it was, he didn't want its appearance to happen grudgingly in front of an audience of scoffers and deniers. Himself included. So, it had been a relief when she'd taken his offered out, and put them all back on course, saving her son.

A relief, and a soul crushing disappointment, all at once.

Hook ran an exhausted hand down his face and let go a heavy sigh. There was no use tormenting himself by reliving those moments over and over again. Soon, they'd set down in Storybrooke, where there were sure to be new concerns facing the Saviour. He didn't want to be one of them. He'd promised her fun, the fun of pursuit, of courtship, of romantic awakening between two potential lovers, and no mark - or lack thereof - would deter him from the course his word had set.

Having secured the helm line to the wheel, needless as it was (old habits), Hook made his way to the mast and settled himself against its base. He spent innumerable minutes mapping out the night sky, identifying familiar constellations from the various charts he'd studied over the centuries, each announcing the realms that passed beneath. Before the stars shifted to patterns he'd yet to learn from a realm still new to him, Hook dozed off. The twinkling pinpoints of light representing a certain majestic bird in flight reflected off his hook, marking its presence in the night sky.

~/~

Emma sighed and rubbed at the throbbing spot on the back of her hand; a constant reminder that not everything had been resolved before leaving the island of nightmares. Try as she might, she couldn't deny the truth. A truth that had stared her in the face with it's too blue eyes, had soothed away the burning under her skin with the lightest touch, and hadn't tried to force a confession from her. Not once.

Not at Echo Cave

Not at Dark Hollow

Not at the campsite, or Tinkerbell's treehouse.

Not even now. Miles above the realms, sailing among the clouds, on an enchanted pirate ship.

(All that, and her belief _still_ couldn't extend to the idea of true love and soulmates?)

Except that… it could. A realization that had made her run _and_ fight when they'd been back on the island. Run _towards_ the fight with a dangerous foe in order to run _away_ from an even more dangerous prospect... admitting what really happened in the hollow. An admission that might make the burning in her hand stop with the appearance of a soul mark, or would prove it really was some minor skin irritation that would simply require an ointment when they got home.

Emma wasn't sure which prospect frightened her more.

Giving up on the idea of rest, Emma made her way on deck, expecting to see Hook at the helm. A moment's panic rushed through her when she saw it vacant, a length of rope secured to the wheel keeping their course. When her eyes adjusted to the moonlit darkness, she spotted him resting against the mast. The dark leather of his coat absorbed the delicate moonbeams while his skin seemed to glow under their caress.

His hand and hook were folded across his chest, which rose and fell in a hypnotic cadence, drawing Emma in. She settled down beside him, and sighed into the warmth she could feel radiating off him. Dark locks ruffled in the cool night breeze, and Emma couldn't resist the impulse to sweep his bangs off his forehead, exposing his usually overactive brows that lay still above closed eyelids. His lashes fluttered against the apples of his cheeks before slowly blinking the man awake. With a deep inhale he sat up straighter, taking in his surroundings and balking slightly at her presence.

"Swan?" His voice was still thick with sleep, but the added weight only held her more firmly in its comforting embrace. "Everything alright, love?"

"Yeah… no. I-I…"

"It's alright, Swan," he soothed. "I told you. You don't have to say anything."

For a brief moment she considered taking his out for a second time, but the burning irritation in her hand had reached new heights of protest and prompting. She didn't want the out, and she didn't just want the irritation to stop. She _needed_ it to stop. Not because the sensation was becoming intolerable, but because she needed to know. She needed _him_ to know.

"After New York," she began hesitantly, "Gold was mortally wounded." A grimace stretched across Hook's features, and he swallowed heavily with downcast eyes. "I was trying to cast a protection spell over the pawn shop, but I…" Emma wet her lips then reached out to take Hook's hand. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and instantaneously, the burning in her hand subsided, giving her the fortitude to continue. "Gold said I was thinking too much, that magic is emotion. I had to ask myself, why I was doing it, who I was protecting, just… feel it."

"Aye," Hook encouraged. "I've noticed that about your magic, too. It seems to flow easier when you aren't really thinking about it. But… why are you telling me this, love?"

"In the hollow, when the shadow had you pinned against the tree, I asked myself those questions. Why did I need the candle lit, who was I protecting?"

"Your son," Hook responded matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders.

"No." Emma shook her head, her eyes dropping down to the charms pillowed against his chest hair. "It was you. I lit the candle, because I had to save… you." His hand tightened against hers, and she looked up into his hope tempered eyes. "Remember I told you, before we went into the hollow, that it wasn't a contest?"

"Aye."

"It was _never_ a contest, because… if I had to choose someone, Killian." His breath caught and stilled within his chest. "I choose you."

Their lips pressed together tenderly, but with no less passion than their first meeting. She refused to let go of his hand when he tried to pull it free, no doubt wishing to thread it through her hair. A tingly warmth, like a soothing balm, penetrated deep within her hand as his thumb caressed over the once irritated flesh.

"And I you," he murmured against her lips. "With or without a mark upon your hand."

Emma's gaze fell to their joined hands, her eyes barely able to make out the small crescent-esque shaped mark appearing in the webbing of her skin. A mark that looked uncannily like…

"Your hand," Emma murmured in wonder.

"What?"

"The mark," she clarified, her eyes flicking up to meet his, which were taking in the appearance and shape of it as well. "It almost looks hooked shaped. Like your left hand."

Realization slammed into them both as they sat staring at one another in awe. It was true. They were… soulmates.

"I wish I could truly share the mark with you," he said with a soft smile, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. The sadness over not being able to bear the mark as well swam in their blue depths. "I guess you'll have to carry the mark for us both, eh, Swan?"

"What if I don't want to carry the mark for us both?"

His face fell at her words, a resigned despondency claiming him as she took her hand from his. "If that's how you feel Swan, then I-"

"It is," she confirmed, then took his hook in her left hand. Wary confusion overtook his entire countenance, but before he had a chance to say anything, a glow of light swirled from Emma's right hand as it hovered over his hook. The white light glowed against his face, which also lit up from within as he watched the illuminated magic etch into the curve of his hook, engraving it with a mark that matched the one on the back of her hand.

"There," she stated after the light faded. "Now, you don't have to."

She barely had time to brace herself for his kiss, which led to them finding a secluded spot below deck. A spot, where they could mark one another as their own in other ways.


End file.
